by Ben Galley
Somehow, I ducked and dodged my way around the edges of the fighting, which was already turning in Colonel Kalid’s favour. His soldiers were on home ground now, and they were military types, ex-soldiers, honed in the emperor’s wars in the Scatter; not scrawny sellswords hauled out of taverns and slapped in armour.
By the time Kalid had reclaimed the doorway of the tower, there were more corpses in the courtyard than fighters. Temsa’s soldiers fled or fought their way back through the gates. I was now crouched close to the steps, busy hugging a column. Kalid and his soldiers now stood between me and the door. I considered rushing around to the rear of the tower, but large stones blocked the way.
There came another roar, this time beyond the walls. I heard Kalid bellow frantically for formations. A few of his soldiers began to pound on the great tower door. It seemed Temsa had learnt a trick from old Finel: he had more men waiting in the streets, waiting to pounce.
‘The colonel has sprung his trap too early!’ Pointy yelled to me. I was not listening. I was staring at the gate, where the twin lumps of Danib and Jexebel had appeared. Men in sooty armour flowed around them like a black tide.
I ran too, driving myself up the steps. I poured all my concentration into the nearest of Kalid’s men, and hurled myself at his chest. With a muted whump I bounced straight off him, and sprawled awkwardly across the steps.
Fucking copper! I cursed.
He slashed at me and I rolled away, waving Pointy madly. By luck, I sheared the point from his blade, and he staggered, yelling for the colonel.
Kalid saw me then, standing in my blood-stained smock, fake white feather on my breast, rubbing confusion from my eyes. ‘Caltro!’ he shouted. He saw me look up, dazed, and knew then it was me. ‘Seize that shade! Get him into the tower!’
Three soldiers tore themselves from the ranks to grab me. I let them, seeing as I wanted very much to be inside, and away from all this chaos. I clasped Pointy to my chest, and perhaps the white feather was the reason they didn’t take him. Perhaps they believed I was a free shade. Their grip was lighter than I had become accustomed to.
Kalid’s shout had reached the ears of Danib. The great armoured ghost scythed his way through Horix’s soldiers with his broadsword. No living man or woman in that courtyard was a match for his brute strength and massive blade. Blows fell upon him in their dozens but they did nothing to halt his ferocious momentum. Those who escaped his lunging swings fell to Jexebel’s axes instead. Her arms windmilled, chopping at anything that moved like an unhinged lumberjack.
I too began to pound on the door. I felt the shudder of locks unwinding between strikes. Horix had locked herself in too tight. ‘Colonel!’ I shouted. ‘Hurry the fuck up!’
I watched Kalid’s gaze sweep around the courtyard, taking in every corpse, every black-clad attacker, and every sweep of Danib’s sword. It took him barely a moment to decide. With a wordless roar, he beat his sword against his chest and marched to meet Danib. I craned my neck, hand hovering over the steel of the door. This, I had to see.
‘Get into the tower! All of you!’ he bellowed.
The colonel was huge in his own right, but the ghost had maybe a foot or more on him. Danib’s vapours curled from the grille in his new visor. I wished there was some great horned and furious beast around so I could teach the ghost another lesson.
Danib waved Jexebel back with a grunt, and she went about her hacking. Kalid struck first, sliding under the ghost’s arm and driving his sword at a gap in his armour. Red sparks flew as the hardened copper found its mark.
The ghost made no sound, though I saw white smoke curling over the thrashing crowds. His giant sword came slashing in great arcs, forcing Kalid to weave. He jabbed where he could, but the blade came closer every time; Danib was getting the measure of him. I wondered how many decades the ghost had on his opponent. How many hundreds he had killed.
With a screech of steel, Kalid’s pauldron was ripped from his shoulder. He rolled to avoid being split in half by the next swing. He was spry, for a big man. Cunning, too, as he went for Danib’s heel. Like most men who strive for muscle, he was top-heavy. With a crunch, the colonel cut deep enough to make the ghost kneel.
Kalid spun full circle, almost acrobatic. His sword slammed into Danib’s breastplate, bludgeoning him to the ground. I stared on, shocked and strangely still while the fight raged around them. I heard the last clicks of locks, but I strained on my tiptoes to watch the colonel drive a sword through the ghost’s shoulder. I could almost hear the sizzle of vapour against copper-lined steel. Kalid pressed down on the blade with all his weight, trying to sever the limb.
Hands grabbed me, but not before I saw Danib reach up and knit his gauntlets behind Kalid’s head. The colonel tried to wrench free, but somehow the ghost held him. I yelled as I was ushered into the blazing light of the tower. The last thing I glimpsed was the colonel’s face being driven into the pommel of his own sword, again and again, until the man’s face was a horrid cavern of crimson and white bone.
I felt sorry for his ghost, but that didn’t halt my guilty elation that I was in the tower and he was not.
Chapter 8
Vengeance is a Virtue
Revenge is a dish best served while your enemy isn’t looking.
Old Skol saying
From the safety of her balcony’s railing, the widow glared down into her courtyard and watched the silver-plated body slump to the blood-churned earth. The giant ghost extricated himself from the sword; the corpse rolled to face the misty skies, and there Horix saw the ruin of Colonel Kalid’s face.
A snarl rose in her throat, building to a roar. Not one of anguish, or sorrow, but anger. Kalid had failed her in his final moments. In twenty seconds, he had undone twenty years of fine service, and she was now minus one fine colonel. A dull ache spread through her chest.
With the torches quenched, her high balcony was kept in shadow, far out of range of any triggerbows, and Horix lingered for a moment more. The fighting was down to blades and fists now. Nails and teeth, in some cases. If she leaned out, Horix saw her men pressed against the door, being yanked through one by one. The tide had turned once more, and not in her favour. Hungry waves of Temsa’s black-clad soldiers continued to flow through the gates. The weasel himself was standing in the gateway now. Sisine waited not far behind, guarded by Etane. Horix found it hard to tear her eyes away from them. The uppity little curs.
Horix spat over the railing into the battle below, wrenching herself away from the cold, foggy air. It made her bones ache. Clasping a pearl cane in one hand, she pressed the other to her chest, feeling the blunt edges of the half-coin she’d hung on a chain around her neck.
‘Yamak!’ she cried once she’d entered the light in the corridor. A single torch held back the shadows. The sweaty man came bumbling out of the darkness, his borrowed shirt of mail clinking musically.
‘Mistress?’
‘Your cutters.’
Yamak fiddled under his shirt for a moment before producing a pair of steel shears. They were small but stocky, and perfect for reducing a half-coin to shreds.
‘Widow?’ Yamak asked.
‘If Caltro’s not in Temsa’s possession, and he’s not in mine, then he has clearly fled. I cannot have that, not when the empress-in-waiting is loitering outside my gates, winkled from her Cloudpiercer! The time is now! I cannot wait any longer.’
‘But they—’
Horix set the cutters to the half-coin, aiming to snick its corner. She took a moment before she pressed, gently at first, watching the steel bite into the softer copper.
A piteous wail rose up from the stairwell, slicing through the clangs and echoes of dying. Horix yanked coin and cutters apart, shoving the latter into Yamak’s podgy stomach. He spluttered, moving promptly out of her way as she strode to the nearest balustrade. Torches wheeled below her in the spiralling darkness, like some poorly-timed theatre act.
‘CALTRO BASALT!’ she screeched.
My head wh
eeled from the pain. I shook as white fire sprinted back and forth down my arm. My name rang out above me. I knew that voice’s hoarse edges. Its bitter core. The widow. In that moment I had not a scrap of love for her, only hatred that she was about to snuff me so cleanly. Effortlessly.
‘The fuck was that?!’ I yelled up at the staircase, feeling dizzy as I eyed its spirals, trying to find her. I saw a black notch between its railings. It was working its way swiftly down towards me. A fat man bobbed behind her.
I clutched Pointy to my side, using him as a prop as I struggled to stay upright. The soldiers had left me sprawled on the marble. They were too busy helping their comrades close the door on those too slow or too injured to drag themselves from the fighting. Gauntlets and sword pommels thumped frantically on the steel as the bolts were rammed into place and the cogs turned.
As the grim music faded, drummer by drummer, an eerie silence fell over the atrium. All was quiet save for feet and skirts brushing against steps. Then there came a scraping, as armoured corpses were cleared from the steps. Not a single order was given on the other side of the door.
‘Caltro Basalt!’ the widow said again, this time a hiss. Perhaps she imagined ears pressed against the door.
‘Widow Horix,’ I replied, noting the half-coin dangling from a gold chain in her hand. ‘It’s been too long. Apparently almost too long to bear, seeing as you were about to snuff me.’
I was greeted with a sharp slap around the face. Her copper rings carried the weight of it, and I reeled. The soldiers bunched up around me, realising I might not be as harmless as they originally thought.
‘That is for taking your time coming back to me. And what is that?’ She jabbed a finger at the sword, now held fast in my grip.
‘My sword.’
‘I think I recognise this woman…’ the sword mused inside my head. I had no time for half-memories, only assurances.
Horix cackled. Her eyes bored into mine. ‘A bound shade owns no possessions. Especially not as ornate as this.’
The door shuddered as a ram collided with it. I let the echoes of the boom die before I spoke. ‘I doubt you have the time to argue.’
‘Relieve him of it,’ the widow growled. I felt gauntlets snaking between my ribs and arms. I had just been considering running at her, seeing what haunting that leathery old skin was like.
‘I need it,’ I asserted. ‘For whatever job you want me so badly for. So badly you would kill me to stop Temsa or the empress-in-waiting from getting hold of me. Looks like I must be the best locksmith in the Reaches after all.’
She stepped closer. I watched the flicker of torches play amongst the crags of her face. ‘And here I was, hoping Temsa or Busk had cut out your tongue for your cheek. Keep the sword. But you will be watched closely.’
The gauntlets stayed on my wrists and shoulders, and I was marched after the widow. Instead of up, Horix made for the basement door, the one I remembered sneaking through not so long ago. The terror of the courtyard was fading quickly, abruptly replaced by excitement. After enduring the company of Busk and Temsa, I had completely forgotten Horix’s secrets, and my own desperation to know them. That burning curiosity hooked me afresh. Better yet, all was about to be revealed. I would have done a quick jig if I hadn’t been held tight.
‘Well, that was easier than I expected,’ said the sword.
‘Mhm,’ I agreed. It looked as though luck could throw you a bone in death as well as life. I was glad for it.
A soldier with stripes on his armour and a tattoo of a scarab on his bald head rushed past me. He stood to attention at the widow’s side. I heard his rushed whisper.
‘Shouldn’t we barricade the door, Mistress?’
Horix sized him up, prodding him in the breastplate with her pearl-topped cane. ‘You are Kalid’s replacement?’
‘Yes, Widow! Capt—Colonel Omshin.’
‘Well, Omshin, we only need to keep them out for a short while, don’t we?’
‘Well… yes, Mistress.’
‘Good. Then stop wasting my time with ridiculous questions and get your men aboard.’
Aboard. My excitement grew.
‘Forwards!’ Omshin immediately cried, leading his soldiers tramping down the stairs. Two stayed to hold me. Yamak wheezed behind the widow.
Dozens of torches blazed in sconces, adding smoke to the dust that filled the air. We passed through the cave I remembered, where tools and rubble had been piled. That pile was a mountain now, touching the ceiling. Scrapings on the floor suggested many more carts had been taken elsewhere. We skirted the mound and crept around a corner, where we were painted in a bright green glow; a hue born of competing ghost and torch light. They kept the fire to the entranceway, as if it were forbidden to take it any further.
My eyes took their time taking in the cavern Horix had hidden for so long. Several hundred dead stood around the mighty cavern; in crowds in the pit below us, or lining ramparts and scaffolding. All of them stood silently, waiting. These were the diggers, the builders, the architects of the great void my gaze had somehow missed on my first visit. I bucked in the grip of the guards, wanting to stop so I could put all my concentration into staring. They muscled me on.
I have witnessed many great feats of human architecture in my life. There were those that aimed for size, such as the Bonebridge at Urul Gorge. The Cloudpiercer. Even Araxes itself. Or there were feats of beauty, like the Coralossus in the Scatter. What Horix had achieved was one of sheer ingenuity and boldness.
‘So this… this is what you’ve been hiding from the world…’ I whispered.
The widow flashed me a look of pure delight. Her brand of it, at least. It was a mad, wolfish thing.
The contraption was huge, filling the cavern to the roof. At its base was a ship’s hull, its silvery planks full of uneven portholes and gaps that showed metal ribs beneath. Spikes of iron bristled on the hull’s prow, like an adolescent’s beard. A word was splayed across it in black paint: VENGEANCE. Spars poked downwards like insectile protrusions, holding the construction steady against its scaffolding. Leather-wrapped palms on poles clung to its sides. They looked suspiciously like oars to me. Bulging from the top of the hull was a great patchwork balloon of writhing fabric; red, gold and blue. It had a waxed sheen to it, full of heavy stitching and daubs of pitch. It looked like the bulged neck of a humongous – and very ill – toad.
I heard bubbling and hissing somewhere in the wavering shadows of the cavern. I looked up to see wooden rafters, where more ghosts perched like roosting pigeons. Thick cogs spoke of something mechanical, but I couldn’t tell what. One ghost was dangling from a rope, patching a section of the balloon where a thin trail of steam or smoke escaped. The ghost-light caught the gleam of a ceiling made of iron bars and wooden planks.
‘What the fuck is it, Horix?’ I asked, finally finding my voice.
A soldier’s shout stole my chance for an answer.
‘They’re trying to reach the rear of the tower!’ came the holler.
Horix shrugged as she led us up a ramp, perhaps the same one I had cowered under before Kalid had seized me and dragged me to the sarcophagus. Who knew this monstrous creation had been lingering above me?
A line of ghosts occupied one side of the ramp. Several looked expectantly at the widow as she walked past, but were ignored completely. One ghost I recognised very well indeed. He was unmistakeable.
‘Kon,’ I whispered as I walked past.
At first the crumpled ghost looked pleased to see me, and then he saw the false white feather on my breast, and his eyes fell to my feet. I had nothing to say, and no time to say it. It was a poor goodbye.
The ramp walked us up to a doorway in the hull of the colossal machine. I watched with horror as its rough floor seemed to sag beneath the weight of Yamak, and the gap between it and the ramp widened marginally. I flinched away from it.
‘Is it… floating?’ Pointy asked, as aghast as I was. His pommel was open-mouthed.
‘What
is this sorcery?’ I asked again, louder this time. I knew I sounded like a dullard peasant. I gawped like one too. Even in this world of bound ghosts and talking swords, this still had the capacity to shock me.
‘The Chamber of Thinking call it “science”, Caltro. I wouldn’t have expected you to be so skittish,’ said Horix as she marched inwards and took her place on a chair overlooking a wide porthole in the bow.
I thought I had a right to be skittish, when asked to board a floating ship. And yet, I had no choice in the matter. I had elected to follow my coin, and besides, the guards muscled me through its doorway before I could make a complaint.
I felt the craft wavering below me as I stared about at its boat-like interior, made of planks or crisscross panels. Its iron ribs were supported by skinny wooden beams. There seemed to be a deck above, accessed by a ladder. Some sort of commotion was going on up there, but I couldn’t tell what kind. Shadow pervaded where my glow couldn’t reach.
I threw up my hands. ‘Now what?’
My answer came in the form of a soldier pushing me into a corner. I waited in silence while the rest of the soldiers filed aboard, taking their places about the hull, treading the stairs, and thumping on the boards over my head. Through the many gaps, I could see them slumping against the beams, breathing quiet sighs of relief. I wasn’t convinced enough of our safety to share their emotion.
Light came in the form of fifty shades, marched in through the door by the last soldiers. The innards of the hull shone blue. They spared me a sour glance as they passed me, heading to grasp the palm-wood oars on the deck above. I vaguely recognised one or two but that was all. No Kon in sight. Horix was abandoning him, and all her other shades besides. Her vaults. Even many of her soldiers. She was sacrificing everything for this machine.
There came shouts for more of something I didn’t recognise the name of – something with gift or lift in it – and there was a strange sensation as the craft pushed at my heels. There was another cry of warning from high above us. A shudder coursed through the machine.